


Unexpected

by MissCrazyWriter321



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Breaking down, Canon Death of a Child, F/M, Found Family, Garcia Flynn finally gets a hug, Grief/Mourning, Hints of Jyatt, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 05:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14846594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/pseuds/MissCrazyWriter321
Summary: He isn't prepared for how it will affect him, having a child in the bunker.





	Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This story is about grieving for a child. It doesn't go into details about the child's death, but if this is something that will upset you, please be careful. I've stumbled onto stories that are darker than I feel like reading more times than I can count, so I want to put a warning up front. 
> 
> I just keep thinking about the fact that Flynn hasn't really had a chance to properly grieve for his family, and I wanted to give him that. This hurt me to write, honestly.
> 
> On a final note, this fic doesn't really explain why Lucy is giving Jessica a second chance, because I felt like it would take away from the point of the story. Let's say she's offering intel on Rittenhouse in exchange for her child's safety.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Somehow, it doesn’t even occur to him.

He definitely has his objections to Jessica coming back to the bunker, but the fact that she’s pregnant isn’t one of them. He feels for the child, really, but Jessica is dangerous. She can’t be trusted.

(“They told me the same thing about you,” Lucy points out, hand resting on his arm. “But I trusted you. And now… I need you to trust me.” Well, when she puts it like that….

“Fine. But I won’t like it.”

She kisses his cheek, then turns bright pink, making excuses and stammering away. Against his will, a smile tugs at his lips. Maybe this won’t be so bad.)

Even when the little girl is born, he’s fine. A little annoyed at the midnight screaming and the fact that the bunker has even less room than before, but beyond that, he’s fine. It doesn’t even cross his mind that he shouldn’t be.

Until the first time he sees Lucy holding her.

The team is gathered in the living area, taking advantage of some rare downtime. He’s the last to arrive, so no one notices when he appears in the doorway.

Lucy’s smile… He hasn’t seen her smile like that in far too long. Can’t even remember the last time, if he’s being honest. She hasn’t had many reasons to be happy lately. But somehow, here, with her ex’s child in her arms, she lights up, warm and sincere. His breath catches, cheesy as it is to admit. (She makes him feel cheesy, and he’s long past caring.) A tug of longing hits him, sudden and unbearable. All he can picture is her holding a different child-one with his eyes and her smile-a ring on her finger as she leans back against his chest.

The image is so vivid, he can almost reach out and touch it. He closes his eyes, draws in a breath, and steadies himself. She isn’t ready for that, isn’t even remotely ready. Still pulls away every time he smiles at her a little too long, then flinches, as if she expects him to be angry.

(And he is angry, but not with her. Never with her. With every soul who has hurt her, yes, but not her. It would be easy to blame Wyatt, but he doesn’t. Not completely, anyway. This kind of insecurity comes from something deeper, and he suspects her mother is to blame. Wyatt yanking the rug out from under her couldn’t have helped matters, but he isn’t the only one who has hurt Lucy Preston.)

Still.

One day, maybe. Later. If she’s willing.

Because he hasn’t wanted anything the way he wants that image in a very long time. Not since….

Iris.

(And it’s not like he’s forgotten his daughter. Of course not. But that isn’t the same as looking at Wyatt’s child and remembering what it was like to hold his own. Suddenly, all he can think of is his little girl, just a few hours old, crying on his shoulder. So small. So helpless. He was supposed to protect her.)

His breath catches for a very different reason, then, and he scrambles back out of the room, hoping no one notices. For a few sickening moments, he thinks the contents of his stomach might make a reappearance, so he pauses, pressing his forehead against the cold bunker wall. Forcing himself to breathe. (Not fair. If she can’t, why should he?)

He half-entertains the idea of retreating to somewhere more private, but his legs don’t feel quite steady beneath him, so he sinks to the floor, turning to resting his back against the wall. Tears burn his eyes, and he shuts them tightly, trying to center himself.

Footsteps alert him to the fact that he’s not alone, and he struggles to wipe his eyes, to find some trace of a mask to put on. Fails.

“Flynn?”

Lucy. Both the last person he wants to see him like this… And the only one. He swallows hard, tries to choke out some sort of explanation, and manages only one word. “Iris…”

It’s enough. With a soft gasp, she’s at his side, pulling him into her arms. He practically sags against her, burying his face in her neck, clinging desperately to the solace she offers. Shuddering sobs run through him, and he doesn’t try to fight them, just cries helplessly as she holds him.

It isn’t fair. Iris deserved better than this. It isn’t right, isn’t fair, isn’t fair-

“I know,” Lucy whispers, and it gives him pause for a moment-did he say that out loud?-but then he hears Iris’s laughter in his mind, and another wave of grief washes over him, stealing away any coherent thought.

He’s not sure how long they stay like that, her rubbing his back and whispering against his hair. (No platitudes. She never once tries to tell him that everything is okay. But she tells him she’s there, that he isn’t alone, and maybe that shouldn’t help either, but coming from her, it does. Doesn’t even begin to fix things, but it offers him something solid to hold onto, and maybe that’s the best there is.)

Finally, his cries subside, but he makes no move to get up, and she doesn’t try to push him away. He breathes deeply, focuses on her comforting scent, (lavender shampoo, and just a hint of something else, something he recognizes after a moment as newborn baby, and it sends another pang through him,) and her soft touch, on his back and in his hair. Her lips against the top of his head.

It’s remarkable, really. He’s probably twice her size, but in her arms, he feels safe.

When he finally lifts his head, Lucy’s eyes are red and watery, and his heart breaks all over. She was crying for him, for his loss, and he loves her more than he can say.

“I-ah-” His voice is rough, and the words catch in his throat, but he coughs, plows on. “Thank you.”

She nods, expression serious. “Anytime.”

A pause, then silence, not quite comfortable, settles over them. It’s clear that she doesn’t know where to go from here, doesn’t know if he wants to talk, or pretend that the moment didn’t happen. Honestly, neither of those ideas appeal to him. He wants…

“We should get something to eat.”

Relief clear in her eyes, she nods, rising to her feet and offering him her hand. He takes it, stands, and goes to let go, but she tightens her grip, and he doesn’t argue. Her hand is the steadiest thing around him, and he clutches it tightly.

Together, they make their way to the kitchen, warm up some leftovers, and settle at the table. Dinner is mostly silent, but not uncomfortably so. They’re both caught up in their thoughts, and he’s drained from the exchange in the hallway.

It’s only once his plate is clear, and hers is almost the same, that he finds his voice. “It’s a good look for you. Holding a child. You’ll be a great mother someday.” She stiffens, eyes widening, and he quickly clarifies, “If that’s what you want.”

As quickly as her wariness comes, it fades, and her shoulders sag. A half-smile tugs at her lips, and he can’t help but smile back.

(When the Logans-all three of them-show up in the kitchen moments later, Lucy is on her feet in an instant, ready to usher him out. But Jessica speaks before she can, holding out her daughter with a smile. “Do you want to hold her?” Not waiting for an answer, she hands him the child, and he instinctively catches her.

She snuggles against him, and it’s too much, far too much. He thinks he’s going to crumble again, doesn’t want to crumble in front of Wyatt or Jessica, but she looks so much like Iris, and he can’t, he can’t-

Lucy’s hand is suddenly on his arm, and he takes a breath, looking at the child again. Exhaling heavily. This is not Iris.

“Hello, Sherry. Hello.” He keeps his voice soft and gentle, so as not to disturb her sleep. “That’s it. Rest up. Want to get your beauty sleep. Otherwise, you might end up looking like your dad.”

Wyatt’s offended sputtering is almost completely drowned out by Lucy and Jessica’s laughter, and Flynn smiles.

He will save Iris and Lorena. He will.

But he has a family again, and this time, he’s going to do everything in his power to protect it.)

**Author's Note:**

> This was the hardest thing I've written in awhile, for a couple of reasons. One, I've thankfully never been through what Flynn has been through, so I had to do a lot of guessing. Two, if you've read many of my fics, you've noticed that I always try to give them happy endings. With this one, I couldn't really do that, so I tried to give it a hopeful one instead. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think?


End file.
